Steeling the Mood
by lovesteele
Summary: Late Season 4 PWP. Mr. Steele decides to cook for Laura. Will she send him home with a peck on the cheek yet again, or will she give him something more? Feedback is always appreciated.


4:59 pm  
Friday  
June 23, 1986

It's a typical day in Los Angeles. The morning started off  
overcast and by the end of the day the temperature was  
somewhere in the high 80s. Century City doesn't feel the heat  
like downtown LA, and I dread leaving the office to head  
inland.

I finish the last few forms from our previous case and file  
it beside the many other success stories our filing cabinets  
contain. Like it or not, the office is running out of room to  
house the much needed paperwork, and the supply room is  
almost full. Mr. Steele's office takes up half of our space, but  
I don't think clients will be impressed by a room full of filing  
cabinets. It seems like we're due for a new location.

I don't want to worry about that now, though, and grab my  
purse on the way out the door.

"Good night, Mildred," I tell her as I pass her desk. "Have  
a nice weekend."

"You too, Miss Holt," she answers, and I'm out the doors  
heading for the elevators.

The wait is long and I'm stuck in the back of the line. Instead  
of stuffing myself in with all the others, I decide to wait for  
another few minutes.

"Miss Holt!" I hear from down the hall. Damn these elevators  
anyway. "I thought I'd missed you," he says from down the  
hall.

There goes an evening alone with a book and a long soak in  
my tub. "Mr. Steele," I say as he runs up to me. Figures, the  
elevator arrives just as he does.

"I was wondering what your plans were tonight," he says as  
we step into the elevator.

"I was hoping to go home and relax," I tell him and hit the  
button for the parking garage.

"I see," he says.

"You see what?" I ask in no mood for his games tonight. I  
should have snuck out at four-thirty.

"Well... I just so happen to have a pair of tickets to the opening  
gala at the Natural History Museum's new dinosaur exhibit. I  
thought maybe you'd like to go?"

"And you waited until I was leaving to ask me because..."  
Ugh, men.

"Because I just got ahold of them," he answers instantly,  
making me feel guilty. "I only found out about the event this  
morning and was unsure if I could still get tickets," he finishes  
making me feel even worse.

"Ah." Well there's nothing to say to that, is there?

"We don't have to go if you're tired, Laura," he says as the  
elevator stops at the garage. "We can do something else."

He can't be this dense, I think as I walk to my car. "Actually,  
Mr. Steele, I'm beat. I was just going to pop a frozen dinner  
in the oven and read a book."

"Frozen dinner?" he feigns shock. "On behalf of good taste  
I can't let you eat that. Let me at least make you something  
edible," he all but begs.

"Really, Mr. Steele-" I try to say but stop when I see the  
determination written across his face. Fine. "Just dinner."

"Sure," he says but I can tell he's up to something more. It's  
never just dinner. "Give me an hour," he says and kisses me  
softly on the lips. "Don't worry about dressing up."

Is that his way of telling me to 'wear something comfortable'?  
"Don't worry, Mr. Steele. Comfort is my key word tonight."  
What the hell am I saying?

He looks amused. Does nothing faze the man? "Great," he  
says and leans down to kiss me again. This time he doesn't  
pull away, and before I can stop myself I feel my arms  
encircling his neck. My brain ceases to process anything but  
his hands on my hips and his warm lips on mine. What seems  
like hours is in reality only a few seconds, and he pulls away  
again. I can see he's affected as much as I am.

"See you soon," he whispers as he wipes his lips with a finger.  
I'm sure he's wondering why I'd let him kiss me like that in a  
parking garage of all places. I hope he doesn't think that  
means I want anything more than dinner, because I don't.  
Really.

************************************

6:00 pm  
Laura's Loft

I've been ready for fifteen minutes. I changed clothes three  
times and settled on a sweater and jeans. I don't understand  
why I'm so nervous. It's not as if that was our first kiss. It  
just seemed... different somehow. Believe it or not, he's usually  
more reserved. He did nothing to hide his desire for me after  
the kiss.

The Kiss.

I've named it. This is pathetic! I feel like I'm back in high  
school! The buzzer sounds and my heart flip flops. I've got  
to get it together.

He's smiling as I open the door. "Hi," he says, and I take  
one of the grocery bags he's carrying. I smile back and he  
closes the door behind us. "I wasn't sure what you had so  
I stopped for a few things..."

A few things? These bags are filled to overflowing. "You  
brought enough food to feed a small country, Mr. Steele."  
Ohhh... he bought Filet Mignon.

"Well I'm sure you'll put the leftovers to good use," he  
says as he inspects the bottom drawers in my refrigerator.  
My mouth waters and I'm not sure if it's from the thought  
of steak or from seeing his denim clad form bent over in  
front of me. "Oh good," he says and straightens up. Damn.  
He notices my glance and says "you have garlic. It's the  
one thing I forgot."

I somehow doubt that. "What are you making?"

"Well," he says as he pulls the contents from the bags,  
"as you can see we have asparagus, mushrooms, rice and  
two filets. I thought you might be in the mood for steak,"  
he finishes and my eyes feast over the food.

"If I wasn't before, I certainly am now," I tease. This  
shoots my diet all to hell.

"Wonderful. Why don't you open the wine and relax for a  
bit?" he asks and points to the wine. That's not what I  
need to calm down, I think, but I do as I'm told and open  
the wine.

The next hour passes in a blur. Remington putters around  
my kitchen creating his gourmet feast while I relax on the  
couch and watch the news. We're the picture of domestic  
bliss, although slightly reversed. Lord knows I can't even  
cook oatmeal right. He's true to his word, though, letting  
me relax with only minimal discussion as I watch the  
happenings of the day play out on channel four.

Before I know it dinner is ready. It smells wonderful and  
looks even better. Remington is nothing but thorough and  
brings me my plate on one of my t.v. trays. I don't even  
have to get up to enjoy this meal. He brings his over and  
we enjoy dinner in silence. By the time we're finished I'm  
stuffed and ready for a long nap.

"Dinner as wonderful," I tell him as I settle back into the  
couch. If he wasn't here I'd pop a button on my pants or  
go change into some sweats.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," he says with his usual smile.  
"I like to impress you with my culinary skills," he jokes  
and wiggles his eyebrows. "You know I can't stand what  
you eat most of the time, Laura. I really wish you'd let me  
teach you the finer points of cooking for one."

Yeah, right. I'm not capable of it, even if I don't want to  
admit it to him. "Maybe someday," I say noncommittally.

"I'll take you up on that, Laura," he says and moves  
closer to me on the couch. "Is there anything worth  
watching?" he asks pointing to the television. I hand him  
the remote and he flips through the channels. "You should  
think about getting cable television," he says as he stops  
on the Dodger's ball game. "Hmm... we should go to a  
game sometime."

It's then that I notice it. He's fidgeting with the remote. In  
the four years I've known him he's only done this when he's  
really nervous. I knew he wanted more than dinner. Yet,  
he's not doing anything besides watching the game. What's  
he waiting for?

I try not to obsess about it and turn my attention to the  
game. The Reds are up six to three, and the Dodgers just  
walked the batter. Figures.

The next thing I know I'm leaning on his shoulder. My eyes  
pop open and three innings have gone by. I can't believe I  
fell asleep! Feeling stupid, I try to sit up but my neck aches.  
I slept in the wrong position.

"You alright?" Remington asks, noticing my discomfort.

"My neck's a little stiff," I say trying to rub it.

"I was afraid of that. Here, turn sideways and I'll see what  
I can do," he tells me and helps me turn around. Seconds  
later his fingertips are caressing my shoulders and neck.  
"Tell me if I rub too hard." He's not rubbing too hard,  
though. It feels perfect.

"Good," he says.

Oh, did I say that out loud? I'm losing it fast. I should  
kick him out while I still can, but this feels way too good.  
His fingers move up my neck and caress my scalp. I'm  
shocked at how good this is. A few more minutes of this  
and I'll do whatever he wants...

"Is this okay?" he asks.

Can't he see I'm enjoying it?

"Mmm... it feels incredible," I manage to tell him as my  
eyes slip shut.

"Good," he says again. I almost feel like I'm floating  
as I enjoy his caresses. I don't even notice at first as he  
gently kisses my neck. I'd normally jump out of my skin  
if he did that, but since his fingers are still rubbing my  
shoulders I simply accept it and try to enjoy myself. I can  
barely sit still as his caresses cease and the only thing I  
have to concentrate on are his lips as he moves to the other  
side of my neck.

I can't decide if I'm too tired to stop him or too content to  
shove him out my door, but once his arms encircle me I  
know I am lost. Four years of trying to find an equal footing  
are out the window. I don't want to think about what will  
inevitably happen tomorrow. Instead I wrap my arms around  
his and tilt my head to give him better access to my neck. I  
moan, and his arms tighten around me in response. Just as  
I'm contemplating whether or not he'll ever move his arms  
from around my middle he moves one hand up toward my  
breast.

In four years of dancing around the subject we've never  
gotten this far. The reasons I've always stopped him or  
he's stopped himself are conveniently absent, not that I'm  
complaining. I can tell he's trying to be gentle, not to scare  
or startle me. As if he could. His hand gently cups me,  
softly squeezing my breast through my thin sweater. I want  
to kiss him, but he's still softly kissing my neck, moving  
from one side to another. Bless him for taking things slow...  
but, I'm getting frustrated not being able to do anything  
but sit here.

I pull forward, out of his embrace, and he quickly drops  
his hands from my body. "I'm sorry," he says. He's not  
looking me in the face, and I instantly regret being so  
cold to him for so long. "I don't know why I did that,"  
he tells me, looking anywhere but at me.

"No, don't be," I insist. He finally meets my eyes, and  
his whole face lights up when he sees I'm not pushing him  
away. "I just wanted to see you."

"Ah," he sighs, obvious relieved. "I was ready to leave..."

"Don't, please," I say as I move into his arms once again.  
"You can stay if you'd like." I know he wants to stay, but  
I figure he'll appreciate me giving him the option instead  
of assuming things.

He holds me close to his chest, and I can feel his heart  
pounding steadily. I love knowing I can make him feel  
this way. "On one condition," he says, and I feel his chest  
rumble as he speaks. "I get to make you breakfast in bed..."

Like he even needs to ask. "Hmm..." I feign contemplation.  
"Okay."

I feel his muscles relax, and he squeezes me in appreciation.  
"I don't want to make any mistakes, Laura, and I just  
wanted to be sure. For you to be sure, I mean."

I pull back so I can see his eyes and say, "I am sure." Of  
course I'm sure. I mean, I was sure earlier that this was just  
dinner, but he hadn't touched me yet. Now I'm sure. Really.

I can tell he's about to say something, but I stop him, not  
really wanting to talk anymore tonight. I've chastised him  
about how we never talk, but tonight shouldn't be about  
that. It's about us spending time together. He takes the  
hint and smiles. I wonder if he thinks I'm out of my mind  
or have finally come to my senses.

He kisses me again, just like he did in the parking garage.  
This time I take the initiative and part my lips in invitation.  
His warm tongue fills me, and he takes his time, teasing  
my tongue as he explores my mouth. Tonsil hockey was  
never this fun in high school...

Remington decides it would be easier if things were more  
horizontal, and he pushes me back into the cushions. Thank  
goodness I didn't get the love seat instead of the full sofa. I  
fit comfortably, and with a little maneuvering, Remington  
fits comfortably on top of me. He's careful not to settle his  
full weight on top of me and braces himself on his forearms.  
To his amazement I take the initiative and pull on his shirt,  
forcing him to kiss me. He takes the hint and seals his mouth  
to mine. I have just enough room to get my fingers on the  
buttons of his shirt. As usual the first few are already undone,  
and I finish the rest in no time.

I want to pause a moment to imagine what a sight we must  
be... him covering my body, his shirt untucked and unbuttoned...  
me with my fingers playing over his chest. But, I get  
no chance as it seems Remington wants to reciprocate my  
actions, pulling my sweater up and over my head.

If I had known I would have worn something besides a plain  
white bra, but he doesn't seem to mind. I feel myself flushing  
as he lowers his gaze to my chest. This is what you do to me,  
I want to tell him. I don't get a chance to, though, as he  
unclasps my bra. At least I chose the front clasping model.  
No doubt he is grateful.

He's not as smooth as he wants to be, and it takes a few  
moments for his nervous fingers to function. When I think  
he's going to take his sweet time to look me over he does  
the opposite, pushing the material from my skin and zeroing  
in on my left nipple. I can't help but cry out at the sensation,  
wholly unprepared for anything this wonderful. His lips are  
strong but gentle as he nips and licks and suckles at me. My  
body arches into his, and I notice his arousal pressing into  
my thigh.

My legs part instinctively and he settles between them,  
rocking his hips into mine. Pleasure shoots from my core  
to my fingertips. His mouth releases me and moves to my  
other breast, his hand taking the place his mouth just vacated.  
It's almost too much between the rocking of his hips and  
his mouth on me. I haven't taken as much time as I should  
to attend to my own needs lately, and I'm so close already.  
I want this to last, though, so I reluctantly pull his mouth  
away.

"Clothes," I gasp, and he takes the hint, sitting up on his  
knees. I can see the evidence of his arousal pressing against  
his jeans. Poor man... he must be dying in there. Before I  
can give him a hand he's unbuttoning my pants. He  
hesitates, fingers on my zipper and looks at me for reassurance.

"Do it," I tell him and he slides the pants down my legs. In  
our haste we've forgotten our shoes, and my pants only get  
as far as my ankles.

"This is always so much easier in the movies," he mumbles  
as he removes my shoes. I try not to laugh as he seems SO  
determined to make this easy for me. Yet, he notices my  
attempts at smothering my laughter and drops his hands  
in defeat. "Perhaps this would be easier if we had more  
room, hmm?"

The idea of having him in my bed excites me even more, so  
I hastily kick off my pants and grab his hand on the way to  
my bed. I'm in my underwear with my bra hanging off my  
shoulders, but do I care? Not at all... We climb the stairs  
and here we are. He wastes no time removing my socks and  
I shrug off the bra.

It's my fantasy come true as he's on his knees in front of  
me about to remove that final barrier. He amazes me again  
and gets right to it, pulling my panties down and tossing  
them away. I guess four long years of waiting have eaten  
away at his patience. He moves to where I want him the  
most, parting my legs to give him more access. I feel his  
warm breath against my center and then his fingers are  
there, separating my slick folds. I don't have any support  
here and have to brace my arms on his shoulders to keep  
from falling over. I close my eyes to focus on his fingers and  
lips and tongue. He gently slides a finger into me, coaxing  
more wetness from my body. I shudder as his arm tongue  
finds my swollen clit. He adds another finger and I'm lost  
between the gentle motion of his hand and tongue.

I can't do anything but hold onto his shoulders and  
concentrate on the sensations running through my body.  
"I'm so close," I say to him and he hums his approval  
against me. Seconds pass and all I know are his fingers as  
they slide in and out of me and his mouth on the one part  
that aches the most. I shudder and grasp his head, pushing  
his face into me as I come. My legs finally turn to rubber,  
and he's there to catch me as I collapse.

Minutes pass and I find myself nestled in his lap. He's  
murmuring over and over how wonderful that was and how  
beautiful I am. I lift my head from his shoulder to find him  
smiling at me.

"Welcome back," he says.

I'm a little shy at the moment but smile back. His arms  
fold around me as if he's in no rush to move things along.  
He's still hard under his jeans, though, and I'm ready to  
offer him a little help. I stand on wobbly knees, pulling him  
up as I rise. It's finally my turn, and I grasp the top of his  
jeans in a playful tug. His shirt falls to the floor and he  
watches as I pop the button of his pants. He sighs in relief  
as a I lower the zipper.

I don't get to do much exploring as he pulls me to the bed,  
lowering me to rest above him. I'm still shakey from a few  
minutes earlier but find the dexterity to move enough to strip  
him of his pants and boxers. Part of me wishes he would  
wear jeans more often, but the larger, more vocal part never  
wants him to wear pants again.

His legs are long and slightly muscular, nothing like a  
football player but perfect nontheless. In can he he's very  
happy to have my attention, and my body warms at the  
thought of what else we'll be doing tonight. He's absolutely  
still as I take him in my hand. I think he's either telling  
himself he's dreaming or trying not to scare me off. I can't  
really blame him. It's taken us forever to get to this point.

I wrap my fingers around his hard length and he jumps  
slightly at the touch. I can tell he's really struggling to  
hold back. I have a feeling it's been years for him as it  
has for me, and it's all he can do not to end things too  
soon. Not that I'd complain, really. I mean, we have all  
night... and I hope the rest of our lives. Still, I can tell  
that he wants to be a gentleman and please me as best  
he can. True to form he gasps and grabs my wrist, stopping  
me from going any further. His eyes find mind and plead  
with me to stop.

We both know it is time to do what we have struggled so  
hard to get to. I'm surprised to find myself ready, but not  
overly anxious. My stomach isn't tied in knots as it usually  
is the first time I'm with someone new. I start to move off  
his lap, onto my side, but he stops me.

"Laura," he says, and I know what's coming. This is where  
he asks to be on top. It always the same. "Stay here."

I'm ready to move again when my hormone soaked brain  
kicks in. "Stay?" I ask in surprise.

"Yes, of course," he says, smiling up at me the way he  
does. "Unless this makes you uncomfortable..."

"No, this is fine," I tell him and relax atop his body. His  
smile widens as his hands move to grasp my hips. This is  
it, I think, and I move to straddle him. Something brief  
flashes in my mind, like I'm forgetting something, but I  
shake it away intent on having him inside me.

His hands steady me as I slowly take him inside my body.  
He's letting me set the pace, and it takes me a while to  
adjust to his size. It's only after my muscles relax that I  
remember what I forgot, and I have this horrible urge to  
slap my forhead.

Remington notices my discomfort immediately, but I'm  
quick to show him that he's not hurting me. "We forgot  
something," I say and move up his length. His hips buck  
beneath mine, but the panicked look he wears tells me his  
movements are involuntary.

I think he mumbles "shit," but I can't be sure. His teeth  
are clenched and the little veins on his temples look about  
ready to explode. "You're going to have to move, Laura,  
because there is no way in hell I'm going to stop at this  
point. Voluntarily."

He's assuming I have the mental capacity to disengage  
at this point. Should I move? Is it safe? Why didn't I go  
on the pill? I'm mentally calculating my cycle and realize  
this would be the best time for me to get pregnant. That  
is, if I really wanted to. Maybe someday, but for now I  
summon the courage to move off him and reach for the  
drawer on my nightstand.

"Hurry," he says, not even bothering to ask me why I have  
condoms in my nightstand. He'd be more surprised to find  
the vibrator under my bed, but he doesn't need to know  
about that now does he? I grab the box and tear off a foil  
packet. Seconds later we're ready, and this time I don't  
hesitate, settling myself atop him again.

It takes a few moments, but our bodies find the right rhythm  
and we're finally moving together. I close my eyes,  
overwhelmed at the feeling of him under me, in me, and  
his hands move up to cup my breasts. Pleasure drives  
straight to my center, and I cry out his name.

He must be pleased, I think as I open my eyes to see his  
face filled with love and longing for me. His hands move  
over me, gently stroking and squeezing in all the right  
places. He's faltering though, and his hands fall back  
to my hips. I'm close, but there's no way I'm going to  
get there before him. I'm eager for his release, so I lean  
forward to adjust the angle slightly. He seems to understand,  
and I'm pleasantly surprised to feel my muscles tighten in  
preparation for climax.

His body lifts mine from the bed with each thrust until  
finally he stills under me as he finds his release. By some  
miracle he starts to move again and allows me to find the  
release I'm craving. He catches me as I collapse against  
his chest. My bones feel like rubber, and I lazily think  
that nothing's really resolved, but for the first time in my  
life I feel complete and completely satisfied.

Before I can sleep, however, Remington gently reminds  
me that he has a little cleaning up to do. I never thought  
I'd see the day when he'd be in my bed looking for the  
trash to dispose of a used condom. I'll have to speak with  
my gynecologist this week about getting back on the pill.

He finds the trash can and disposes of the "evidence,"  
then turns back and takes me in his arms. "I love you,"  
he whispers as we snuggle under the covers.

"I love you, too," I tell him and find comfort in knowing  
he'll be here for as long as I want him, which of course,  
is forever.


End file.
